


Jackalope Hunters

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Other, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolves, asshole monster hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: "What if there're Jackalope hunters out there somewhere, doing the same thing we are? Sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Waiting. Waiting for that horrible fuzzy, pointy shape to come bounding out of the darkness..."





	Jackalope Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter: @su1cidesauce

"Jackalopes," Lucas said, staring out into the dark.

"No," Leon replied, trying not to roll his eyes.

"Why not? No, Leon, think about it. The Order only tells us what we need to know. We get those little packets, we're sent out to the site, and then we come home and someone collects the packet and the report. What if--"

"Keep your eyes open, Luke."

"I am. What if there're Jackalope hunters out there somewhere, doing the same thing we are? Sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Waiting. Waiting for that horrible fuzzy, pointy shape to come bounding out of the darkness--"

"There are no Jackalope Hunters in the Order of the Wolfshead, Lucas," Leon said wearily. 

"You don't know."

"I know."

"You don't _know!"_

Leon shifted, trying to find a more comfortable way to sit on the hard, pebbly ground. He'd always imagined deserts were hot-- sweltering wastelands full of sand and those little wavy lines you got like in the cartoons. And it _had_ been hot, right up until sundown when the temperatures had dropped to refrigerator level. He'd left his thermals back at camp, figuring he wouldn't need them. 

The cold wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was sitting on the freezing ground with rocks digging into his ass. 

And that Lucas got chatty when he was bored.

"What about, like, chupacabras?"

"No, Lucas."

"Why not? They're a menace. They eat goats! That's what 'chupacabra' means, right? Goat killer?"

Leon, who had been born and raised too far north to know what a chorizo was, shrugged. "I think there's only one chupacabra."

"Okay, jackalopes, then. There's no reason for the Order to tell us about another team-- we've got to keep our eyes on the prize." Lucas crossed his legs, canvas pants scraping in the dirt. "But I bet they're out there. Facing danger every day. Doing just the best they can. Keeping people safe."

"Luke."

"I know, keep my eyes open. I _am,_ Leon." He sighed. "I don't think there's anything out here. I think our spotter was seeing coyotes. Isn't that what you said? That it might be coyotes?"

"Wouldn't have come out here if I thought it was just coyotes," Leon said, scanning the landscape of scraggly bushes they were sitting in, painted stark black and white by the waxing moon overhead. "You should keep your eyes peeled for those, too, though. They hunt in packs."

Lucas leaned back against him. "I'm just gonna let you look. You see better in the dark than I do, anyway. Just tell me when you've got eyes on, okay?"

"You'd see better if you listened to what the Church elders told you and came to mass on time," Leon muttered.

"I was on time last week."

"Barely. You took an oath to remain faithful--"

"And true," Lucas finished in a bitter singsong.

"Yes. Sleeping through mass and skipping confession because the line was too long isn't being faithful. If you don't do the work, you don't get the benefits. Faithful and true. That means following the rules."

After a long moment, Lucas mumbled, "Not everybody can be like you, Leon."

"You can, if you let your faith lead you."

"I do let my faith lead me." Even softer. "Father Hastan said that faith isn't in your head. It's in your heart. And that being true to your faith meant being true to what-- what you felt. What felt right. That that was the most holy."

"Father Hastan was excommunicated," Leon said flatly. 

"I know. It's just that... he said things that made sense."

"Enough sense for your blessings to come back?"

"No." Sulky.

"It isn't so hard to keep the faith, Lucas. You get used to the rhythm of it, and pretty soon it's like second nature."

"It's not mass. It's confession that I don't like."

Leon chuckled. "Why, what did you do?"

"I... It's just that I-- Jesus Christ!"

Lucas carried the same bolt-action rifle that he'd learned to shoot on when he was twelve, modified for the silver slugs that they used in the Order. Leon felt the recoil jab him in the back, two shots leaving his ears ringing; he brought his own gun around, keeping his eyes forward and his breathing even, watching the still shapes in the dark in case something came at them from the other direction. "How many?" He demanded.

"I don't know-- just one. It came across my eyeline." Lucas' back was too rigid against Leon's, on the edge of shaking. "Have you got eyes on?"

"No. I don't see anything." Leon let out a breath, then stood. "Reload and cover me, I'm going to go confirm."

"Uh. Yeah. Okay." 

Leon picked his way through the brush, eyes and ears straining, until he reached the slumped shape a few meters away. Far too small and long-legged to be what they'd come out to kill. He nudged it with a boot, then knelt to pick it up. 

"Have we got a confirm?" Lucas asked. "Can we go?"

Leon flung the dead thing down again. "Congratulations, Lucas, you just wasted two silver bullets on a rabbit."

"Oh." A shaky laugh. "Fuck, it came out of nowhere!"

"If you want to be a Jackalope Hunter that bad, you ought to tell the High Council. Maybe they'll transfer you," Leon drawled. "But before that, you're going to have to tell Father Minst that you took the Lord's name in vain because you were scared by a bunny."

"I had eyes on, Leon, I caught eyeshine!"

"And you didn't stop to think that it must be the tiniest mark you'd ever seen?" Leon kicked the furry corpse again, making a face. "We can't leave silver behind. Give me your knife, I'm not getting rabbit guts all over mine."

He turned to see Lucas looking past him, expression blank, right hand sliding down the stock of his rifle toward the trigger, slowly and deliberately as a glacier pushing through a mountain. 

Leon felt his chin hit the ground at the same moment that Lucas shouted "Down!" and then _"eyes on!"_

Oathgiven blessings or no, Leon knew that Lucas only had to fire two shots because it was protocol, not because the first had missed. 

Chin still smarting, Leon rolled onto his back and then onto his feet, backing up until Lucas put a hand on his shoulder. Out in the desert, something let out a wail of pain and anguish.

"Use your stupid Oathgiven eyes and call clear for me," Lucas said in his ear. 

"I've got confirm." A heap of fur out in the sand that was quickly becoming a tangle of arms and legs.

"Yeah, I see _that_ one, look for one that I haven't shot yet," Lucas hissed.

Leon looked out past the body, taking in every shape, every shadow, looking for movement. Or unnatural stillness.

"I'm calling clear," Leon said finally, and Lucas let out his breath in a whoosh. "Good to know you weren't gonna waste _all_ of your bullets on local wildlife tonight." 

Lucas sat down, cradling his rifle against his shoulder. "I shot it. You get to do cleanup. I think the head bag is in my pack."

"Thanks," Leon muttered, then, in a different tone, "...thanks."

"Mm. I'm gonna take a breather. Let me know when you're done."

Leon walked out to where the body lay, twisted in an unnatural position from its transformation from beast back to man, long furrows in the dirt where its claws had raked through it in its death throes. 

A little bit bigger than a bunny. There was no way they'd be able to pack it out of the desert; they'd have to take something small as proof they'd killed it, and burn the rest. Should have brought marshmallows. At least the pyre would keep them warm.

Leon unsheathed his knife and, lifting the creature's head up by the hair, began sawing through its neck.

**Author's Note:**

> "Asshole Monster Hunter" (real title: Order of the Wolfshead) is a project that I'm slowly chipping away at about a perpetually exhausted and broke girl in Ohio who has pink hair and a job making sure the less than human inhabitants of her midsize city behave themselves.
> 
> All characters and the state of Ohio are (c) me.


End file.
